


It Won’t Be Lost Forever

by shelleysprometheus



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dont give in, M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes, Snow patrol lyrics, Why does Sherlock call Lestrade by so many names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 06:35:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14806203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shelleysprometheus/pseuds/shelleysprometheus
Summary: Don't give in. Don't you dare quit so easy.





	It Won’t Be Lost Forever

**Author's Note:**

> An attempt to answer the question posed by the talented (and challenging) @88thparallel: Why does Sherlock call Lestrade by so many names? With the beautiful lyrics of the Snow Patrol song, Don’t Give In.

“That stuff’ll kill you, Sherlock.”

 

_Alive. Well that is unexpected_.

 

“You nearly died.” The Detective Inspector’s voice persists in poking annoyingly through the haze.

 

Sherlock doesn't allow his eyes to open.

 

_Yes, that was rather the intent_.

 

“George, is there a point to your presence other than to simply state the blatantly and redundantly obvious?” he aims for impervious although it is hard to tell whether he has achieved it when every brain cell feels blunted, and his vocal cords are raspy (intubation he surmises). He hopes the Detective Inspector takes the hint and leaves him to lick his wounded mind in peace.

 

“I have a case that might be of interest to you”.

 

_Don't give in_

_Don't you dare_

_quit so easy_

_It won't be lost forever_

 

Lestrade turns to exit the hospital room, setting Sherlock’s beloved Belstaff and a file on the chair nearest to the door. Sherlock allows his eyes to open, tracing his exit.

 

_Thank you Greg._

 

The door slicks closed and the exhaustion of failure and opiate withdrawal pulls Sherlock back under.

 

~

 

“It wasn't personal, Sherlock. You stole evidence from a crime scene.”

 

_It doesn't get much more personal._

 

“I did not steal it, I found it, something your detectives might have been able to do if they weren't so intent on proving themselves wrong yet again. And it wasn't at the scene of the crime".

 

“He was going to find out sooner or later", Lestrade points out evenly, resisting the diversion.

 

_It's in your blood_

_And it's in your making_

_It won't be lost forever_

 

“Obviously, but I would have preferred it not to have been within the first twenty four hours of knowing me", Sherlock focuses more intently on the magenta liquid dripping from the pipette in his hand into the glass beaker below.

 

“Seems like he has seen a lot, a good man to have by your side", the Detective Inspector pushes himself off from where his hip has been resting against the corner of the workbench.

 

“I’ll be needing those preliminary results, Gary".

 

“Greg. And you’ll have them by midday".

 

Sherlock's focus drifts slightly from the swirling chemicals.

 

_Thank you Greg._

 

_~_

 

“Well you were gone for two years.”

 

“Yes, yes, yes, but how do I … make it better?” Sherlock's navy silk dressing gown flutters behind him as he paces the length of the living room, hands punctuating the air erratically.

 

“You give him time I suppose.” Lestrade takes another sip of his tea.

 

_Unhelpful. Time? Time? How is time going to help?_

 

“He did also just find himself about to be burnt to a crisp in a bonfire...”

 

_Because of me._

 

“Look. Let the man get used to the idea that you are back. And for god's sake, find a way to apologize”. Lestrade sets the tea cup and saucer down on the side table just as the knocker of the front door sounds.

 

_Apologize._

 

_Don't fall on your sword_

_Just follow your instinct_

_It won't be lost forever_

 

“You must be ….” They pass the Detective Inspector on the stairs.

 

“Gavin. Leaving". Sherlock ushers him out and them in.

 

“Greg". He mutters to himself.

 

Sherlock glances back.

 

_Thank you Greg._

 

~

 

“God I hate weddings". Lestrade leans back on the bar, beer in hand, surveying the dance floor wearily.

 

“Really? You don't find the emotionally self indulgent atmosphere appealing Geoff".

 

“Not my thing Sherlock, not since …” (divorce, Sherlock surmises). “And you know my bloody name is Greg!”

 

They settle into silence together, side by side, watching the guests dance, watching them dance.

 

_Married._

 

Eventually: “It's going to be quieter around Baker Street. Give me a shout if you get bored"

 

_I can only tell you how it_

_how it looks from here_

_It won't be lost forever_

 

Sherlock's eyebrows narrows as a flicker of discomfort passes across his face.

 

_Thank you Greg._

 

~

 

“I'm not a bloody idiot Sherlock!” The strain in Lestrade's voice apparent.

 

Sherlock struggles to sit up in the hospital bed. The Detective Inspector reaches for his elbow and the pillows behind him.

 

“Are you going to tell me who shot you, or shall I just guess?”

 

“Don't guess”. Sherlock's voice is small, speaking to the window.

 

_A statement, a plea._

 

_Only you know what it_

_what it is to see through_

_See through the eyes_

_that are trained on me now_

 

_It won't be lost forever_

 

Lestrade sighs, pulls a chair closer to the foot of Sherlock's bed and sinks into it. Settling in. Silence.

 

_Thank you Greg._

 

~

 

“Do you want to press charges?” Lestrade surveys Sherlock’s bloodied face from his position in the doorway.

 

“No, he was right, I deserved it.”

 

“Sherlock, it's assault!”

 

Sherlock steadfastly refuses to acknowledge the Detective Inspector’s presence or meet his gaze.

 

_Don't fall in love with the_

_with the way things were_

_It'll fuck up your mind_

 

_It won't be lost forever_

 

“Fine. But you listen to me. He's on a very tight leash. If he does anything, anything else, I will press charges without your permission. Understand?”

 

An interceptable nod from Sherlock.

 

_Thank you Greg._

 

~

 

It’s been a long night. Lestrade starts to walk past them but turns back when Sherlock speaks quietly.

 

“Oh, um. Mycroft – make sure he’s looked after. He’s not as strong as he thinks he is.”

 

Lestrade nods, “Yeah, I’ll take care of it.”

 

“Thanks, Greg.”

 

Sherlock smiles. John smiles.

 

Lestrade smiles as he walks away and lets out the breath he has been holding for the past ten years.

 

_For this is all on the wings of others_

_I loved you more_

_More in your own flight_

_Found_


End file.
